


Dark Days & Sleepless Nights

by assassinslover



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinslover/pseuds/assassinslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sound of her breathing, steady and deep, fills the room. It's sweeter to Delphine’s ears than anything else could ever hope to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Days & Sleepless Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I said I would do the Delphine not sleeping thing.
> 
> Original prompt: It’s my headcanon that Delphine doesn’t even sleep anymore. She just watches Cosima’s chest rise and fall with every jagged breath she draws. And I feel like every time Cosima hesitates to breathe, Delphine’s heart clogs in her throat with panic and that sense of too late. And sometimes, fatigue will hit her and she’ll crumble to it only to wake up abruptly with Cosima’s name heavy on the tip of her tongue. Because everything she fears awake, she sees asleep. (via Tumblr user theresalightinallofus)

There are weights on her eyelids. She blinks to try and clear the burn of sleep and sits up a little straighter in bed. The light from her laptop screen should be stimulating enough to keep her awake, tricking her brain into thinking there's rays of sunlight where there aren't, the blue tinge casting a soft glow across the woman next to her. Cosima sleeps soundly, stretched out on her back with her head rolled to the side and an open book splayed across her stomach. She'd fallen asleep almost an hour ago, and Delphine hadn't had the heart to disturb her to do more than gingerly remove her glasses and set them in their normal place on the side table. The sound of her breathing, steady and deep, fills the room. It's sweeter to Delphine’s ears than anything else could ever hope to be.

She's been watching since Cosima started to drift, observing with a small smile on her face as she had struggled to stay conscious, her head dipping only for her body to jerk her back awake, until it was too much and she finally scummed. The smile is gone now, the mask tossed aside in the safety of Cosima's slumber. Delphine sighs and passes the back of her hand over her eyes. It sounds too loud in the silence, her sudden exhale of breath, pushing her lungs flat and falling from her mouth. She pinches the bridge of her nose and bites her lip and lets her head fall back against the wood behind her, looking at Cosima out of the corner of her eyes.

If she listens hard enough, she almost imagines that she can hear the rattling of her breath, the gurgling of blood building in her lungs as the infection eats away at them. Sometimes she can. She can't remember the last time she slept properly, wrapped up in Cosima's arms rather than spending her nights forcing herself to spend the long hours watching the gentle rise of her lover's chest beneath the blankets, and filling her bloodstream with cup after cup of coffee during the day, using layers of make up to hide the shadows beneath her eyes and drops to fight off the redness that threatens to give her away. Delphine is sure that Cosima knows, she's too clever to not have figured it out. She may be able to cover the physical signs, but no amount of cosmetics can hide the look in her eyes, or the lethargic movements of her body, or the dullness of her normally sharp mind.

Her laptop hums loudly on her thighs, the fan beginning to whirr in protest at having been on for so long. The heat soaks through the blanket, warming her legs. Reluctantly, Delphine shuts it down before the noise can wake Cosima, leaving it to rest on her lap. It takes a moment for Delphine’s eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness before she's able to make out the shape of the room and the furniture, and the orange hue from the street lamps outside the bedroom window are enough for her to see Cosima by. She's still breathing. Still calm, and peaceful. She looks younger with her face washed clean, and the lines of stress that have been forming around her eyes and between her brows relaxed.

The nights aren't always so passive. Delphine’s lost count of the days she spent being woken by the unnatural rattle of Cosima's breath in her ear, or how it stills for long, painstaking seconds while oxygen and carbon dioxide try to work their way through Cosima's clogged lungs and throat, choking her while she sleeps until her body wakes her on its own, or Delphine can roll her onto her side and rub at her back while she coughs. Cosima mumbles wordlessly, followed by a short, swift cough. It sends Delphine's pulse racing, her heart jumping into her throat and her every atom alert, acutely attuned to the other woman, but it's nothing, just a soft puff of air, and then the sounds stop, and the night is quiet again. It's a relief.

Delphine lightly shakes herself to fend off the waves of tiredness that wash over her, pulling at her eyelids like lead anchors. She stifles a yawn and rubs at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs. She can't sleep. Cosima may be fine now, but the second Delphine dozes off, the second she succumbs, something will happen, and she won't be around if Cosima needs her help, if she... As carefully as she can, Delphine sets her laptop at the base of the bed and slips from beneath the covers, stretching the knot out of her lower back. She paces, her footsteps muffled, getting a glass of water from the kitchen, a snack from the cabinet. If the movement helps at all, she's unsure, but the chill in the air chases her back to bed and the warmth radiating from Cosima's body. Stretching out on her side, Delphine resumes her watch.

 

There's blood. It stains everything. Cosima's lips are red, her hands covered. She's pale, laying in the bed with glassy eyes and stiff limbs. Delphine can't move. She can't speak. She has no body, no voice. All she can do is look. For minutes, for hours. For days. She can't breathe.

Leekie finds them. He takes Cosima from her, puts her in a lab and runs tests. The scientists poke at her with needles, test the blood that she hacks up in clots, strap her to a table and monitor her vitals. Cosima writhes in pain. Delphine is the one in control of it all.

Delphine can't get to her. There's a doctor holding her back, keeping her from pushing through the swinging doors to where Cosima lies, stretched on a table connected to machines with tubes while doctors and nurses cluster around her, a bustle of hands and bodies. She struggles against the arms containing her and hears her own screams echo in her ears. Her view is blocked, then the movement stills. One of them looks at a clock. Delphine feels her heart shatter.

“Cosima,” she says, renewing her attempt to get away. This time, she's granted her wish. Cosima's name spills from her lips, disbelieving, and then a shout, a plea, an accusation.

 

Her chest is tight with panic when she shouts herself back to wakefulness, breathing erratic and loud, her skin slick with sweat and her cheeks damp with tears. It wakes Cosima, who murmurs in confusion until her brain clocks on and concern kicks in. Delphine feels her shift, strong arms finding her shoulders and pulling her in.

“Babe, what's wrong?” she asks. Her voice is husky with sleep, but it sounds clear, and her breathing is still normal. Delphine waves her off, sniffing and trying to regain control of her own oxygen intake, wiping at her face and eyes.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” she says, and wiggles out of Cosima's grasp. Her lover sighs when she rolls over. There's a moment of hesitation, and then Cosima is spooning her. Her smaller stature should have made it awkward, but Delphine feels surrounded. She relaxes into the touch, but her heart is still in her throat and when she closes her eyes she sees Cosima's lifeless body. Cosima kisses the back of her neck. She doesn't need to say anything. Cosima already knows.

Cosima is asleep again a few minutes later, holding Delphine securely to her even in slumber. Her warmth is comforting, the press of her chest as it moves, the gentle rush of her breath across the back of Delphine's shoulder. She stares into the darkness, haunted by her nightmares, her stomach twisting in fear.

In the morning, Delphine gently extracts herself from Cosima's embrace. She showers and covers the bags under her eyes with make up and makes coffee for them both. The scent of it filling the flat wakes Cosima like it always does. She shuffles out of the bedroom, squinting without her glasses and rubbing sleepily at one eye.

“Did you get back to sleep?” she asks, settling her hip against the counter while she waits for the pot to finish brewing. Delphine nods, not meeting Cosima's eyes, not trusting herself to speak. “Good,” Cosima says. Either she's still too tired to question the lie, or she's chosen not to. Delphine is relieved. She hands Cosima her mug, and lightly kisses the corner of her mouth. Her own drink is large, filled to the brim and mixed with cream and sugar. Dejectedly, she gazes down into it, waiting for it to cool enough for the first sip of many to help prepare her for the night ahead.


End file.
